Three Little Words
by shdwanna
Summary: Dawn wants to go out.


DISCLAIMER: If they were mine, I would do the unceasing dance of joy. But they're not. Sometimes I play with them, because I don't own anything worth playing with. Or taking. So don't sue.  
  
FEEDBACK: I crave it like Spike craves blood.  
  
DISTRIB: Just tell me where, so I know where to send the psychia--um, so I can go look at it.  
  
PAIRING: S/Dw friendship  
  
NOTE: Um... I wrote a six-page paper and then answered essay questions for two solid hours. Call it post-finals hysteria. I apologize in advance. This is my VERY FIRST Buffy fic.  
  
ANOTHER NOTE: This is slightly AU, and part of a series that I'll write if people really want me to. All you need to know is that Spike and Dawn got shoved through a portal into an alternate dimension, and are now stuck there together.  
  
****  
  
  
  
Three Little Words  
  
"Bloody, buggering hell.."  
  
I hear that a lot. In fact, I know I'm home when I hear it. Sometimes I think he should make them his battle cry, like the Tick with "Spoon!" I'd tell him so, but I doubt he'd appreciate being compared to the big blue incompetent, and I'd have to put up with him grousing about how evil he was the rest of the night. Blah blah Big Bad blah blah killed two Slayers blah blah. Whatever.  
  
Three words, seven syllables, and he's got about a million different ways of saying 'em. I take a lot of interest in how he says them, because it can have a drastic effect on my plans for the night. There are fourteen shades of happy, of course. Muttered usually means he can't find something, or he's bollixed something up. Louder usually means we're out of something he wants. Weetabix, or alcohol, or whatever. Shouted usually means something's gone wrong - which, here, usually involves a sports team. Growled. growled is bad. Growled means a reminder that my best friend and quasi-legal guardian (you have to have a legal existence to be someone's guardian-and, for that matter, so does the person you're guarding) is a blood-sucking fiend, and most of his nicknames for me involve food because, when we met, that's what I *was*.  
  
Except that that never happened.  
  
Come to think of it, I guess we've never properly met. Not that, "Hello, Bite Size," before my mom swung an axe at him would really count as a *proper* meeting, but since it didn't really happen..  
  
Sometimes the whole existence thing makes my head hurt.  
  
"Dawn!"  
  
Oops. That's what I never want to hear following those words. That's his don't-make-any-plans-until-you're-thirty tone of voice. I swear, he puts a serious crimp in my social life. Not only does he have the whole protecting-my-ass vibe going (and I'd love to see you try to get a date with Billy Idol's fanged evil twin guarding your virtue-okay, not so fanged, here, but he still *acts* like it), but, now that it's just the two of us, he's also got the whole *grounding* my ass vibe. Bad juju.  
  
"Um.yeah?"  
  
He raises a scarred eyebrow. Crazysexycool, that's my Spike. Excuse me, that's my Uncle William. William David Summers, age 24. I'm not sure how he plans to deal with the fact that he's *permanently* age 24, at least appearance-wise. I'm sure Buffy would think of wildly rude and violent things to do to him if she found out that he was using our name, but she's not here, and he is, so she can just sod off.  
  
"Don't give me an um, yeah, girl. Where are you off to?"  
  
"Um.the library?"  
  
And I actually am. See above comment on finding a date. Also the fact that I used to be a mega-geek. Book girl. On the chess club, straight-A student. Spike figures that since I did it once, I can sure as hell manage it again. Here, competing with Buffy is officially Not An Issue. Let's just say he noticed the stuff disappearing from the Magic Box. Let's just say that once I was his responsibility, that little problem got. taken care of. Anyway, a lot of afternoons, we sit together, me studying, him looking for a spell that might be able to get us home. So far, no luck.  
  
"With who?"  
  
"Sara, and Katy, and this guy from my chem class, James. You haven't met him yet."  
  
"Am I going to?" The eyebrow again.  
  
"Maybe. If you promise not to scare him to death."  
  
Evil grin. I am the Big Bad, etc. "If they're not brave enough to face me, Nibblet, they're not good enough for you."  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm kinda tired of sitting home on Friday nights, if you get my drift."  
  
"Give it time. They'll figure it out."  
  
I sigh. "Can I go? They're waiting."  
  
"When are you going to be back?"  
  
"Midnight?"  
  
"On a *school night*?" Geez, you'd think I'd insulted his mother or something. Except that vampires don't really have mothers, on second thought, so. his sire, I guess. Except that he'd probably applaud if I insulted his sire. He and Angel aren't exactly the closest. You'd think I insulted the Sex Pistols.  
  
"Um.."  
  
"Is the bloody library even *open* that late?"  
  
"It's Las Vegas, Spike. *Everything's* open that late." Las Vegas. I bet back home it's Vampville, USA. Here.well, since Spike seems to be the only demon around, it's pretty safe. "Besides, we were probably going to go for coffee or something afterwards."  
  
"No later than eleven. Got it?"  
  
"Eleven." I grin. I wasn't hoping for anything past ten.  
  
He chuckles. "Be good, Bit. And if you can't be good.."  
  
"I know, I know. Be careful. I will. To both." I grab my bag and head for the door.  
  
"Got your cell phone?" he calls.  
  
"Yes," I call back.  
  
"If you so much as scratch the paint-"  
  
"I'm a nummy treat, I *know,* can I please just go?"  
  
"Have fun, Bit."  
  
Halfway out the door. Keys, bag, phone, everything.  
  
"Bloody buggering hell!"  
  
Pause. Two breaths. Silence. Good. Those three little words are not aimed at me.  
  
This time.  
  
- FIN - 


End file.
